his hands together with a clap which echoed across the silent gathering
with the force of an archaic solid projectal shot. A Salarik, wearing the
rich dress of the upper ranks, but also the collar forced upon a captive
taken in combat, came into the enclosure carrying a jug in both hands.
Preceded by Paft's son he made the rounds of the assembly pouring a
purple liquid from his jug into the goblet before each chieftain, a
goblet which Paft's heirs tasted ceremoniously before it was presented to
the visiting clan leader. When they paused before Van Rycke the Salarik
nobleman touched the side of the plasta flask in token. It was recognized
that off world men must be cautious over the sampling of local products
and that when they joined in the Taking of the First Cup of Peace, they
did so symbolically.

Paft raised his cup, his gesture copied by everyone around the circle. In
the harsh tongue of his race he repeated a formula so archaic that few of
the Salariki could now translate the sing-song words. They drank and the
meeting was formally opened.

But it was an elderly Salarik seated to the right of Halfer, a man who
wore no claw knife and whose dusky yellow cloak and sash made a subdued
note amid the splendor of his fellows, who spoke first, using the
click-clack of the Trade Lingo his nation had learned from Cam.

"Under the white," he pointed to the shield aloft, "we assemble to hear
many things. But now come two tongues to speak where once there was but
one father of a clan. Tell us, outlanders, which of you must we now hark
to in truth?" He looked from Van Rycke to the I-S representative.

The Cargo-master from the Queen did not reply. He stared across the
circle at the Company man. Dane waited eagerly. What _was_ the I-S going